


Anchor

by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Gen, Major Character Undeath, Originally Posted on Tumblr, The Merthur is Subtle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23819230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/pseuds/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels
Summary: A man wakes up in the woods.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 85





	Anchor

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/616270762274422784/for-the-prompt-thingy-19-for-merlinarthur-ive

When he wakes up, he doesn’t know where he is.

He doesn’t know _what_ he is.

He sits up. He’s lying on the grass. It’s a bit damp, and wet, and he’s... he’s covered in dirt.

Was he... dragged out of the earth like some kind of undead? He doesn’t feel undead though. He has a pulse, he’s breathing. His skin is warm.

Huh.

There are trees growing thick around him. The light that filters through is gray, as though threatening rain. _Typical Albion weather._

What is Albion? Why does that name stir something in his chest?

It takes a moment to stand. He’s like a newborn foal. His legs wobble all over the place like they’ve forgotten which way they’re supposed to bend so they’re trying every way.

Who is he? He’s a person. He’s a... He looks down. He’s a man, apparently. And he’s... apparently someone used to a hard sort of life. There are calluses on his fingers, and right along the joints between his index and thumb, running up and down—sword calluses, he knows, somehow. There are scars on his body, too. Some are easily explainable, they’re obviously from arrows or swords. Perhaps a fall. But others look... odd.

 _Magic,_ something in him whispers. _Scars from magic._

What is magic? Something—he has complicated feelings about. Anger, betrayal, guilt, loss, vindication... he can’t sort through them all.

He makes it a few feet, grabs a tree trunk for balance. Where are his clothes? The moment he thinks that, he remembers what clothes are. Funny how memory works. Or doesn’t work, in his case.

In the middle of the trees is a clearing. There’s soft tilled earth, neatly patted over into a rectangular shape. Neatly folded at one end is a red cape, with a golden symbol of some kind emblazoned on it. Flowers are just starting to grow around the edge of the plot.

Someone’s died here recently. Died, and was buried with love.

He hopes that it’s not a—a violation, but somehow, it feels okay, all right, to take the cape. As he lifts it up, though, he finds he was wrong, it’s not a cape. Or perhaps it was a cape, moments ago. Now it is a coat, a red coat, with golden buttons. There are boots, too, that he somehow missed seeing the first time.

He puts them on. They fit.

The trees seem endless, thick, covering the whole world, and yet he finds in no time at all, they’re gone. The island he’s on is smaller than he thought. Much smaller. For a second, he almost imagines he’s in the middle of a great, unending ocean, but he blinks, and he sees, it’s really not so far to swim. He’s in the middle of a lake.

And on that lake is a small boat.

He stands and waits, somehow knowing the boat is for him. There’s just one figure in it, dark hair, a smattering of blue like a smear of paint.

The boat pulls up, and the figure stands. “Hi.” The figure looks the same age that he feels. Tall, a bit gangly looking, big ears, big smile. “So, um. I’ve never been here, never crossed the water, wasn’t allowed. But I got the feeling today that I should and... here you are. You’re probably confused, but...”

“Merlin.”

Merlin stares at him. And he knows him, he knows him like he knows nothing else in this world. He stares up at Merlin who holds him while his body, the world, grows dark and cold, as Merlin begs him to stay. He looks down at Merlin in a marketplace, arrogant and foolish, as Merlin swears he can take him apart, a cocky glint in his eyes. He looks at Merlin know, and sees him. The rest of the world seems insubstantial, void of color, in comparison.

“You—” Merlin looks like he’s been hit by a rampaging dragon. “You know who I am.”

“Of course I know who you are.” It seems silly, somehow, ridiculous, that he should ever forget Merlin. “I’d always know who you are.”

A shadow flits across Merlin’s face. “How much about me... do you remember?”

“You do magic.” No, that’s not right. “You _are_ magic.”

Merlin ducks his head down. Shoves his hands into the pockets of his... what is he wearing? Some kind of trousers that look odd. Dark blue. “You... you hated me.”

“I was betrayed. But I—I’ve never hated you.” He doesn’t know much but he knows that. “I—”

He... how _does_ he feel about Merlin? His best friend, his confidant, the man he treated too much like a servant when he was so much more than that. He doesn’t know why he needed a servant, or what he was confiding in Merlin, but he knows that. And he knows that it hurt, to find out that Merlin lied to him. For so long, so many years, when he would’ve protected Merlin, he would’ve kept Merlin’s secret, he _knows_ this.

It’s all so much, years and years worth, feelings he buried and feelings he refused to look at, and he still doesn’t remember anything—just—just the emotions. And he can’t even begin to voice any of it. So he pulls Merlin into him, instead, and he hugs him.

Merlin makes a noise of surprise, and then—tentative at first—he hugs back.

He buries his face into Merlin’s shoulder. _Maybe,_ he thinks, _if you’d told me about your magic, I could’ve told you that I loved you._

Perhaps, just perhaps, Merlin is thinking something along the same lines, because he whispers, “I want to do it right this time.”

They will. He feels... as though something has been lifted from his shoulders. Like he doesn’t have to be... someone burdened with glorious purpose, the way he feels he was before. He can just be someone who went for a walk in the woods, and found a man, a very pretty man, and he can see what happens. Discover who he wants to be instead of everyone telling him who he should be.

“By the way.” It feels ridiculous to have this conversation while hugging, but he can’t make himself let go. He feels he has years of missed chances for affection to make up for, and centuries of emptiness after that. “Who am I?”

“You know me, but not yourself?”

“Why should I remember myself? You remembered me, didn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Well then, there you go.”

Merlin laughs, and he can feel it reverberate through him. “A few centuries of sleep couldn’t make you less impossible, Arthur?”

Arthur. He is Arthur. He knows it’s true, that it’s right, because Merlin says so.

And he knows Merlin.


End file.
